


Sidekick

by madsthenerdygirl



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6382051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jonathan honestly tries to be a big brother. No, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sidekick

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted at fanfiction.net in 2014 and is now being crossposted here along with the rest of my work.

He's five years old when his father takes him aside and tells him that he's just gotten a present. He immediately begins searching the pockets of Father's coat, because Father's presents are usually hidden in there, but his father laughs and says no, Jonathan, not that kind of present. Father takes him by the hand and leads him to his mother's room. He hasn't seen Mother in a couple of days. She looks quite tired, but she smiles her special smile at him when she sees him.

"Come here, baby boy," she says, crooking her fingers at him.

He bounds over and clambers onto the bed, careful not to hurt her. He was worried that Mother was sick. The servants said that she was fine, but they're paid to say things like that. Something about not upsetting children.

"Jonathan," Mother says, still smiling. "Meet your baby sister. Her name is Evelyn."

He looks down and sees a tiny bundle in Mother's arms, all swaddled in white cloth like the Christ child. She has a tiny little face and a teensy button nose with a few tufts of dark downy hair. She's kind of cute, in a babyish way. As he stares at her, her eyes open. They are dark and wide, taking in the world. He smiles at her and wiggles his fingers.

"Hi, Evie," he says. "I'm your big brother Jonathan."

And wouldn't you know it, but Evie smiles back at him, wide and toothless.

"Can I hold her?"

Mother shows him how to hold his arms, and carefully places Evelyn in his arms. Her head is surprisingly heavy, but it fits perfectly into the crook of his elbow. He bounces her a little and she burbles at him.

"We're going to have such fun," he tells her. "And you won't have to worry about a thing. I'll always look after you."

Mother gives him a kiss on the forehead, and he smiles down at his baby sister.

* * *

"Jonathan, wait for me!"

He pauses, waiting for Evie to catch up. He's twelve and she's seven, and while he's thinned out and gotten what Father calls 'wiry,' Evie's still got chubby little legs and has a hard time keeping up. He waits patiently until Evie reaches him, and then holds out his hand. She takes it and he tugs her along, up the hill. They're in their home in England and he doesn't like it nearly as much as their home in Cairo, but it does have one advantage: lots of woods and fields to play in.

"You all right?" He asks. He can't have his baby sister (and best playmate) collapsing from too much exercise. Great Aunt Adelaide says proper little girls will die if they get too much exercise. Evie thinks Great Aunt Adelaide is silly and has cobwebs in her head, and maybe Evie's right, but you can't be too careful with baby sisters. He didn't know it when he was five, when he still thought storks delivered babies (and boy, wasn't that a disappointment), but he was supposed to have two younger brothers and an older sister. Father explained it by saying that Mother's body wasn't strong, and the babies tried to come too early, so he's very lucky to have Evie at all.

Besides, he likes having her around. It would be a shame to lose her.

"What are we playing today, Jonathan?" Evie asks, red-faced but smiling. There's a gap in her teeth that she hates, but he thinks it makes her look tough.

"Today," he says, striking what he thinks is an imperial pose, "We're going to play Ancient Egypt!"

Evie claps her hands in delight. It's her favorite game.

"I'll be the son of the Pharaoh."

"Which pharaoh?" Evie asks.

Jonathan frowns. "I don't know. Pick one."

Evie purses her lips as she thinks. "I don't have them mem'rized yet. How about one of the Ramses?"

"That'll work." He strikes his imperial pose again. "I'm the son of Ramses, and you'll be the High Priestess!"

"I want to be the High Priestess of Isis!" Evie says, bouncing up and down. "She brought her husband back to life after Set cut him up into a million pieces, and she casts the biggest spells, and she ruled the kingdom until her son Horus was grown up!"

Jonathan still can't tell the difference between all of the gods and goddesses, but he goes along with it. "All right," he nods. "So, here's what happens. The Nubians are attacking us from the south…"

They play their game until the sun goes down and they have to troop back home, Evie's dress torn and both of their knees muddy and clothes grass-stained, but Mother and Father just shake their heads and smile and have the servants draw them baths. And that night, he gets a big hug and kiss on the cheek from Evie before she goes to bed.

* * *

"Jonathan! Get your boots off of my books!"

He's twenty, on holiday from university, and she's fifteen and has more books than friends (or suitors, to Great Aunt Adelaide's continued dismay). He quickly removes his admittedly mud-caked boots from the book they'd been resting on, and jumps up with open arms and a grin.

"Happy to see me?" He asks.

Evie stands there resolute in her irritation for about thirty seconds before she gives in and runs over to him, letting him twirl her around. It feels just like old times.

"Of course I'm happy to see you, Jonathan," she says once he sets her down. "Those books are very old, that's all. I had to promise Father I wouldn't let a thing happen to them. But why are you here?"

"Holiday, my dear baby sister!" He exclaims, stepping back and sweeping his arms out. "It's when they let the prisoners free for a short time before rounding us up again."

"How are your studies?" She asks, cautious.

He feels his smile falter a little.

"Stuffy and boring and feels like intellectual slave labor," he admits, "But otherwise it's bloody fantastic."

He collapses back into the chair, and Evie crouches at his feet, her hands on his knees. It reminds him of when they were little and he'd tell her stories with her sitting rapturous at his feet. Her favorite was always about the Book of Amun Ra.

"If you're really that unhappy," she says, "You should talk to Father."

"And tell him what? His only son wants to quit school and seek his fortune?"

"He's very understanding, Jonathan. He lets me study and doesn't make me go to parties and pay calls."

"Yes, but you're the baby, Evie. And you're a girl. After you punched Lord Abbington's son and he fell down the stairs when you were eleven we all gave up trying to marry you off so hiding you in a library's the next best thing."

She smacks him lightly on the cheek. "He was full of himself and his breath smelled."

Jonathan chuckles. "He did have it coming."

"But Jonathan, I'm serious. Explain things to Father. He went off to Egypt and married Mother, didn't he? And they've done ever so much exploring. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you wanted to, I don't know, follow in their footsteps a little."

He shakes his head. "I don't want adventure, Evie. Not like that. I want to just… have fun, I suppose."

He can see Evie trying to form an answer to that, and he can already tell it's one he won't like. "C'mon now, Evie. You're starting to sound like our dear old mother." He jumps up. "Come on, Old Mum! Let's go out to the fields like we used to, play Ancient Egypt, eh?"

But Evie only shakes her head and rises slowly to her feet. "I have a lot of studying to do, Jonathan. I want to get into university next year and study Egyptology. I've heard of this wonderful society, the Bembridge Scholars, and if I want even a hope of getting in I have to be the tops."

"C'mon, Evie. Just for a little bit!"

She shakes her head. "Go enjoy your holiday, Jonathan. And please try talking to Father about it. Promise?"

He stares at her. She's carrying herself with more care now, and her hair is pulled back no-nonsense instead of hanging loose around her. She's wearing a tiny set of glasses for reading, and a simple collared blouse. There are the ghosts of lines around the edges of her mouth and eyes, and a firmness in the set of her shoulders that hadn't been there last winter. Something new, something somber, shines in her eyes. It's like the clouds have moved in on a starry night.

He wonders when his baby sister became the older sibling.

"Cross my heart," he promises, and leaves her to her books.

* * *

"Jonathan?"

He looks up from where he's been studying the raindrops on the windowpane. His suit is itching him, but he thinks it's more from what it symbolizes than the actual material.

Evie is standing in the doorway, her black dress looking heavy, like weights are attached to the bottom. Her thick, curling hair is pulled up, and she's wearing a small hat and veil.

"Is it time already?" He asks. He must have been staring at the window for longer than he'd thought.

"The undertakers are all ready."

Evie's twisting her handkerchief in her hands, and he sees her bottom lip tremble just the slightest bit. She's been the strong one in all of this, calling him back from the corner of the globe he was lurking in, running the household and handling all of the funeral preparations. Neither of them were there when Mother and Father died. Fever of some sort, out in the jungles of the African Congo. Their bodies were shipped back to England. Evie had to be the one to identify them.

She shouldn't have done that. It should have been him. He should have been there, should have taken charge, but instead he was drinking himself to death in a bar because he'd just embarrassed himself in front of every archeologist he's ever admired and pretty much flushed his career down the toilet.

Failed his parents? Check. Failed himself? Check. Why not fail his baby sister while he's at it?

But now she's in front of him, pale and sorrowful, and although her skin is still young and smooth there is so much old, aching tiredness leaking out of her eyes. He opens his arms.

"Come here, Old Mum."

He hugs her like he's forgotten how, and maybe he has, in the five years since he last saw her. He's approaching thirty faster than he'd like and although she's young she's past "her bloom", her chances for high society all but wasted away. Evie wouldn't have ruined her career. She'd probably kill for the chance he'd just wasted. He wonders, and not for the first time, why Evie was born the girl and he had to be the son. He'd have been fine marrying some tart. He could enjoy the money and cheat on him with the gardener or something. But Evie—his bright, stubborn, starry-eyed Evie—she wants more than society will allow her.

"It's going to be all right," he promises. He has no idea if it will be all right, of course, or even what all right looks like at this point, but he says it anyway because he knows it's what she needs to hear. It's been years but now he gets to be the big brother again, even if it's for just a moment, his baby sister taking his hand and letting him lead her along.

He rubs little circles into her back, saying soothing things that probably don't help much as she sobs quietly into his shoulder. He doesn't know where he's going after this or what he's doing, but he knows one thing for certain: Evie is the strong one. She right herself and move on, head held high. So he keeps holding her, just as he did when she was a baby, because she's going to be all right.

"Don't you worry about a thing," he promises her. "I'll always look after you."

* * *

Something smacks him on the face, hard.

"Jonathan Carnahan, I can't believe—just look at this mess! And that is certainly  _not_  my pair of garters!"

He blinks against the sunlight streaming through the windows, trying to kill him, and slowly becomes aware of his surroundings. He's on a very rumbled bed, wearing a shirt but no trousers, a few bottles scattered about the room (oh, there are his pants) accompanied by some very racy underthings. And standing in the middle of it in a towering rage fit to strike fear into the heart of Alexander the Great himself, is Evie.

"Morning?" He offers.

Evie throws his pants at him.

"My bed, Jonathan!  _My bed_!"

He looks around. "Oh, would you look at that, this is your room!" He must've gotten the doors mixed up last night. It's all quite hazy. "Wasn't there…"

"A rather buxom young woman with blonde hair that she obviously wasn't born with? Yes, yes there was. I threw her out about ten minutes ago."

He sits up, which is a big mistake. His stomach sloshes around threatening mutiny while his head feels like there's a thousand camels drumming along the inside of his eyelids. "Evie, really, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have–"

"No, you shouldn't, but you did. This is the third time this month you've come back from out of, of, of nowhere, no letters or anything, and each time you've managed to make me look like a fool!" Evie's stomping about the room, picking up clothing and bottles like they've danced on Mother's grave. "First there was that awful scene you made with the landlord, and then you wandered drunk into the Museum of Antiquities—the curator nearly had my head for that, I'm still lucky to have a job—and now you've managed to pick up a, a, some kind of, a p-prostitute or something from God knows where and you've had  _sex with her in my bed_!"

Evie sets the things in her hands down on the desk with a vengeance and then grips the edge of the furniture, her head bowed. Her shoulders heave and then shake a little, and he realizes with horror (his stomach gives another awful flip) that she's crying.

"Oh, Evie."

He puts his pants on as quickly as possible and crosses over to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She lets him hold her but refuses to look at him, shaking her head despairingly.

"I don't know what to do, Jonathan, I really don't. I just wish—oh, I don't know what I wish!" She ferociously wipes her tears away with the back of her hand.

"It's all right, Old Mum," He says. "I promise it won't happen again. I'll straighten out, really I will. This past year hasn't been the best, that's all."

"I don't understand," his sister replies, turning to him. Her eyes and nose are red and puffy, and she sniffs very few words. "You're smart, Jonathan, I know you are. Nobody could solve Mother's riddles faster than you. And everyone at university loved you so. If you'd just focus a little—I know some people who are looking for help on a dig, I could always—oh, I don't know. But I can help if you like. Just whatever you do, don't let me see you like this again. Please."

"I promise, Evie," he says. "I promise."

* * *

He keeps his promise. She never sees him like that again.

Not that he doesn't ever find himself in that state again. He just keeps it hidden from her. He shows up at the museum with little baubles and trinkets, hoping to find something and get back into her good graces. He teases her and she slaps him around a little and it's all fun, but it's not the same as it was when they were children. He wishes he knew what to do to get back to the way they were then, when she was trusting and smiled when she saw him and he was confident and always knew what to do.

And then he pickpockets one Rick O'Connell at a bar in Cairo.

It's right about then that it all goes to hell.

Well, not entirely. He feels more alive than he has in ages. There's treasure to be had, some nasty Americans to beat (no offense, O'Connell), and when his sister looks at him, she smiles.

She smiles an awful lot at O'Connell, too, but he doesn't worry about it too much. The man's an honorable scoundrel, so to speak, and unlike her big brother Evie is more than capable of taking care of herself.

Not to mention he sees the way O'Connell looks at her. He's always known, in the back of his mind, that his baby sister grew up at some point and became beautiful, but he never really gave it much thought. It's not like she had boys tearing after her, with her nose always in a book while she muttered to herself about Ramses II and the birth of Ra and the double meaning of the river symbol. But it's not even lust that he sees in the American's face. He knows lust perfectly well. No, this is something else. It's a kind of soft light in the man's eyes as he stares at Evie, like she's the only person in the world. He hangs on her every word, even when she's talking about how they took out your brains during mummification (which really should have made the man run the other way but you never know with those strange Americans—no offense). And O'Connell is always, always,  _always_  standing or sitting or lying right next to Evie. Not too close to be improper, of course, and her certainly never touches her in any way that could earn him a slap, but he's always just right  _there_. Hovering over her shoulder, by her side, at her elbow.

The poor man's got it bad.

But Evie's the happiest he's seen her in years. That dark cloudiness in her eyes, the overcast look that swept over her when their parents died, has been blown away. Now she smiles and laughs, eagerly explaining things to them as they make their way on their journey.

That night, as they're sitting around the campfire (they're 'joining forces now' with the bloody Americans—no offense—at least for the night), he finds himself alone with her. Beni's off on his own, asleep, after swiping the wine like the ass he is. Jonathan doesn't like him at all. Sneaky little bastard. The Americans are muttering to each other as they try to doze in the tent they share. He'd rather like to know what their story is, but he can't stand talking to them for more than five minutes at a time. Maybe O'Connell found out.

Speaking of O'Connell, the man finally left after plastering himself to Evie's side all night and is off to see a man about a horse. Seizing his opportunity, Jonathan plunks himself down next to his sister. She's staring into the fire like it's going to give her the answers to all of her questions.

"He seems like a good man."

She jumps a mile, her hand flying to her heart. "Jonathan, you scared me half to death."

"Sorry, Old Mum." He smiles at her, and she relaxes and smiles back for the first time in almost ten years.

"So. O'Connell. Seems like a good man."

Evie turns back to the fire. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He heaves a sigh and puts his arm around her. "Yes, you do. And Evie, I'm not teasing you—I'm being serious."

She turns to him, bemused, but he plows on before she can interrupt him.

"You need someone, Evie. Someone to share your life with, someone who will take you on adventures and hold you when you cry. You need someone to, I don't know, be whatever it is you need them to be." He gazes into his baby sister's face, at those wide starry eyes and those tufts of dark hair. "I can't be there for you, Evie, and you need someone who will. Maybe not him, maybe not even a husband, but somebody."

Evie looks down at her lap, her hand coming up to finger the locket at her throat. It was her one-year-old birthday present, the pictures of Mother and Father perfectly preserved inside, back from when they were young and healthy and alive. He wonders if she ever looks at the pictures of them. He certainly can't.

"Just tell me you'll think about it, Evie. You can't keep doing everything on your own."

A corner of her mouth tugs upwards, but it seems bittersweet. "This is the first time in a decade you've given me advice, you know," she whispers.

"I know."

He presses a kiss to her forehead and informs her he's going to sleep. O'Connell comes back, and he doesn't miss how their faces light up when they see each other.

He failed Evie many times over the years. He just hopes O'Connell won't.

* * *

They don't really talk about Imhotep, or the things that almost happened to them. He's never been one to talk about issues, and he has a feeling that Evie's turned to O'Connell for any comfort or reassurance she might need. They still insist on staying in separate rooms but every night he hears the creak of floorboards and knows one of them is creeping into the other's room. Thing is, he doesn't suspect it's always sex. Sometimes he wakes up in the middle of the night, wishing he had a warm body to hold.

It takes O'Connell much longer than he thought to pop the question. But, then again, he'd expected O'Connell to pop the question the moment they got back to Cairo. He knows it the second Evie bursts into the room, her face shining like a torch, and he whirls her around like when they were children.

"Tell me truly, Evie," he asks, once he's set her down. "Are you happy? I mean are you really, really happy?"

"Yes," she tells him. Her eyes are dancing. "I'm happier than I've ever been before."

She doesn't even blush as she admits it.

To say the wedding is small would be an understatement. They know a lot of historians and archeologists and such thanks to Mother and Father, but not a lot of people they're close enough with to invite to the ceremony. O'Connell—oh Lord, he's got to call him Rick now—has no one (orphanages and moving around a lot will do that to you), and Evie's never really had friends unless you count books, so it ends up just being Rick and Evie and himself at their childhood chapel because Evie wants their vicar to marry them, dammit, and you don't get in Evie's way on things like this. It's a convenient way to introduce Rick to their stately home and vast inherited fortune, anyway. Lucky for them Great Aunt Adelaide passed on a couple of years ago or they'd never have heard the end of it.

He gets to give Evie away. She looks stunning in Mother's wedding dress, a bouquet of fresh flowers in her hand. Everything about her is glowing, and he half worries she'll burst into flame at any moment from sheer happiness.

"Now, Evie, I know I haven't been all a brother's cracked up to be," He says, "But I want you to trust me when I say Mother and Father would be proud of you. More of you than of me, honestly."

Evie smiles at him, soft and gentle. "Oh, Jonathan."

She hugs him quiet unexpectedly. "You've been the best brother."

"More your little brother than your big brother," he jokes.

"I don't mind," she replies, pulling back. "Now walk me down the aisle before Rick thinks I've gotten cold feet."

(Rick is, indeed, sweating a little by the time they get up to the altar, but he's also grinning like a mad fool so Jonathan thinks they're all good.)

* * *

"Where is she?"

He ignores the housekeeper and takes the stairs two at a time. He knows the way by heart, and doesn't even have to open his eyes to know where he's going. When he enters the room, he stops short.

A rush of deja vu hits him, and he has to get his breathing back under control. He feels like he's five again, holding his father's hand as he was shown into his mother's bedchamber. His palms are sweating as he makes his way towards the massive four-poster bed, his heart drumming madly.

Rick's sitting on the edge of the bed, tear tracks staining his cheeks but his eyes glowing. Evie is sleeping on the bed, pale and sweaty but peaceful. He places his hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder and Rick starts, turning his head.

"We nearly lost her for a minute there," he admits, and Jonathan sees the stark fear in Rick's eyes. "Doctor says she can't have any more."

"Our mother was the same," he explains, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Evie. "Three miscarriages. I was born early—they didn't think I'd make it—and Evie was a near thing."

"She never told me," Rick whispers.

"I don't think she knew."

Evie stirs, and he watches as the glaze in her eyes fades away. "Rick?" She asks.

"I'm here." Rick is at her side in a second, one hand taking hers while the other caresses her cheek. "I'm right here, sweetheart."

Evie smiles, exhausted, and Rick's face practically splits with the force of his grin. These two. They're so in love it's sickening. Evie's eyes slide to him, and he smiles and waves.

"Tough haul, Old Mum, but you made it," he assures her.

Evie gives a tiny little laugh, and then freezes. "The baby." She looks around, her eyes suddenly wild. "Where's the baby?"

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay. It's all okay. The nurse has him."

Rick's voice soothes his sister immediately, and she sinks back into the pillows. "Him? It's a boy?"

Rick nods and Jonathan feels his throat tighten.

"Can I hold him?"

Rick nods again. Jonathan's not sure where the nurse is, but there's nothing a little bellowing can't help. "Nurse!" He shouts.

The woman enters at once, cradling something small and heavy in her arms. Evie holds her hands out and he watches as his nephew is placed in his mother's arms.

"Hello, my precious one," Evie says softly. "Hello my darling."

The baby makes a tiny noise of happiness and wiggles as if to burrow further into his mother's embrace.

"What's his name, then?" Jonathan asks.

"We decided on that beforehand," Rick says, his eyes on his son. "Alexander, after his grandfather."

Father would be pleased about that.

Evie looks up, smiling. "Would you like to hold him?"

He nods, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. He tries to keep his hands from trembling as the baby is placed in his arms. Just like when he held the boy's mother, Alexander's head fits perfectly into the crook of his elbow.

"His full name," Evie says, "Is Alexander Jonathan O'Connell."

He looks up in shock and feels his mouth drop open. Evie is giving him a look he hasn't seen her bestow on him in years.

She looks proud.

He glances back down at his nephew. "Hello, little one," he says. "I'm your Uncle Jon."

The baby burbles at him, his dark blue eyes wide and curious, just like his mother's. He feels a part of his heart detach and latch on to this little baby, his only nephew, and smiles.

"We're going to have such fun," he tells him. "And you won't have to worry about a thing. I'll always look after you."

This time, he's going to do things right.

* * *

They are both trying very, very hard not to eavesdrop, and failing miserably. Ardeth is standing with his back to the lovebirds so at least he can't see them, but Jonathan has an eyeful. Rick is murmuring, his voice continually failing him and fading away as he tries to remind Evie the particulars of shooting—as if the man hadn't already spent a decade teaching her how to protect herself when he's not around.

Rick takes Evie's chin in his hands and kisses her—once, twice, three times, four—before tearing himself away. Jonathan suspects if Rick doesn't force himself to leave now then he never will. His eyes as he walks over to them are dark and storming, his jaw clenched so tightly Jonathan fears the man's teeth are going to break apart. He puts a hand on Ardeth's shoulder and the Medjai nods. They have a shorthand, these two warriors, one that Jonathan has never and will never fully understand, but one that he can certainly respect.

"Jonathan," Rick says quietly.

"I know."

Protect Evie, always. He spares a thought about what would happen to Rick if something were to happen to Evie and concludes that it would be very bad indeed. But although she's Rick's wife, the love of his life, she's still Jonathan's baby sister. Nothing's getting her on his watch.

They ready the guns and position them.

"Jonathan," Evie's voice is quiet and deadly, a viper sliding through soft grass. When he looks over, her eyes are like a moonless night. "That's my husband and son down there. Make me proud."

He can't say his life's been a successful one, but university holds all of his glory days and that includes his (many, thank you very much) sport accolades. Nobody could beat him on a fox hunt.

He finishes loading the gun and hefts it onto his shoulder, the piece feeling smooth and natural in his hands. He's not letting anything happen to Alex or Rick. Not on his watch.

"Today's that day, Evie."

Her eyes slide over to him for a bare second, and when he grins at her he sees a fire light within their black depths. They turn their heads back to face the valley below and begin firing in almost perfect synchronization.

* * *

"Alexander."

Jonathan stirs slightly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. It's night, and they're still on this damn floating whatever it's called, but at least they're safe. Izzy is practically asleep at the wheel but Rick is alert, never straying more than an inch from Evie's side.

Evie herself is cradling Alex in her arms, rocking him to sleep.

"When I was gone, were you okay?" He hears his sister ask.

God, those were honestly the worst moments of his life. The only thing keeping him from bursting into tears on the spot was that it wouldn't have done Alex any good. Someone had to look after the boy while Rick was off on a vengeful rampage.

"I missed you," he hears his nephew admit, and there's a little sniffle. "And I don't want you to ever go again."

"I won't, darling. Not for a very long time."

"But I was all right. Uncle Jonathan looked after me the whole time. And he helped me with the incantation to bring you back."

"Did he now?"

Evie passes Alex off to Rick, who ruffles his son's hair affectionately. Evie crosses over to him and bends down, kissing his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Anytime, Old Mum."

She sits down into his arms, and wouldn't you know it? Her head still fits perfectly into the crook of his elbow.

"I'm so proud of you, Jonathan."

He hugs his baby sister and winks at Alex over her shoulder.

Maybe he did kind of keep his promise after all.


End file.
